‘The neighbours have been kind,’ she said through tears. ‘As soon as they found out, they came to see if they could do anything for me. And Jack told me that Percy Fry’s wife will come at any time if I need company. In time, I might do. At the moment, I need to be with family.’ She hugged her brother again. ‘The only place I want to be is here.’
‘Nance didn’t get a wink of sleep last night,’ said Dalley. ‘Neither did I.’
Ablatt padded out to the kitchen and they followed him. After filling the kettle, he set it on the stove and lit the gas. He seemed to come out of a daze.
‘If you’d got here earlier, you’d have met Sergeant Keedy.’
‘What was he doing here?’ asked Dalley with interest. ‘Have they caught the killer?’
‘No, Jack, but they’ve arrested the man who painted those things on the wall. He tried to have another go last night but Cyril’s friend, Mansel, was lying in wait for him. So was the sergeant,’ explained Ablatt. ‘He was hiding in a house around the corner. The man got away in a scuffle but he was arrested later.’
‘Who was he?’
‘His name is Robbie Gill and he’s a plumber.’
Dalley was roused. ‘I know him,’ he said, angrily. ‘He did some work for us once. In fact, he botched it so I refused to pay him and had to get in someone else.’
‘I remember him,’ said Nancy.
‘Yes, he was a surly beggar.’
‘I know his wife,’ said Ablatt, dully. ‘Mrs Gill brings shoes to be soled and heeled. I doubt if she’ll be doing that again in a hurry.’
‘I bet you want to give him a good hiding,’ said Dalley.
‘No, Jack, I don’t.’
‘I would if he’d painted things on the side of my house.’
‘What does it matter now? Cyril is dead. It won’t bring him back.’
‘At the very least, I’d give him a piece of my mind.’
Ablatt was lacklustre. ‘There’s no point.’
They discussed the matter until the kettle began to boil. Ablatt made the tea and they took it into the front room on a tray with milk, sugar and three cups. He let the teapot stand in its cosy for a couple of minutes before pouring. As they sat in silence, gloom descended on them. Even the blacksmith lacked the will to move. Nobody drank the tea. They just held the saucers in their hands and stared into the cups. When there was a knock on the door, they were startled. It was a rude intrusion into their grief. The shock prompted another bout of tears from Nancy and her husband moved across to comfort her. Ablatt, meanwhile, went off to the front door, making an effort to shake off his torpor.
When he felt ready, he opened the door. A smartly dressed woman lunged forward to put her arms around him. The feather on her hat brushed against his cheek.
‘Hello, Gerald,’ she said, sobbing. ‘I read about it in this morning’s paper. I just had to come.’
He stood aside so that Caroline Skene could step into the house.
Marmion was delighted to see Joe Keedy back at Scotland Yard and amazed how bright and breezy he seemed to be. A sleepless night in the front room of the Haveron household didn’t appear to have sapped his strength at all. Energised by the arrest he’d made that morning, Keedy gave a full account of what had happened. They were in Marmion’s office and the desk was littered with newspapers and correspondence. When he’d heard the report without interruption, Marmion sat back thoughtfully.
‘So this Robbie Gill is definitely not the killer.’
‘No,’ said Keedy. ‘He didn’t murder Cyril Ablatt.’
‘If he’s a plumber, he’d obviously have the strength needed. And his tool bag would provide him with a weapon. The post-mortem report came earlier.’
‘What did it say?’
‘It is full of gory detail,’ said Marmion, ‘but, in essence, it said that he was battered to death with a blunt instrument that also had a sharp edge. There were gashes all over the body.’
‘They could have been put there by the edge of a spade.’
‘What about something out of a plumber’s tool bag?’
‘No — Gill’s alibi was sound. Both his wife and his son confirmed that he was at home when the body was — in all probability — moved to that lane.’ Keedy read the inspector’s mind. ‘And before you suggest that he might have murdered Ablatt earlier on and left an accomplice to transfer the corpse to the spot where it was found, let me shoot down that idea. Robbie Gill wouldn’t have the guts to do it. At heart, he’s a miserable coward. He didn’t have the courage to confront Ablatt in person about being a conchie. He could only work in the dark with a paintbrush.’
‘Did his wife know what he was doing?’
‘She knew,’ said Keedy, ‘but she certainly didn’t approve. That’s why he was so jumpy when I said that we’d speak to Mrs Gill. She was ashamed of what he did and horrified that he’d been arrested.’
‘What about the link with Waldron?’
‘It could be something or nothing, Harv.’
‘If they were in cahoots,’ said Marmion, ‘it’s unlikely that he’d produce Waldron’s name so readily.’
‘I think he was anxious to establish his alibi. He gave me Stan Crowther’s name as well in case I wanted to check at the Weavers Arms. By the way,’ said Keedy, ‘I called at the pub yesterday evening. Crowther is not a man to cross. He used to be a heavyweight boxer and looks as if he still packs a punch.’
‘You seem to have had an exciting time, Joe. A boxer, a plumber, a Welsh cook and two nice old ladies who probably fell madly in love with you — that’s not a bad haul for one night.’
‘What’s this about a haul?’ asked Chatfield, coming into the office. ‘Good morning, Sergeant. I gather there’s been a development.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Keedy.
‘What’s this about an arrest?’
‘The sergeant had a busy night,’ said Marmion.
Keedy took his cue. He gave a carefully attenuated version of events to the superintendent who peppered him with questions throughout. Chatfield criticised him for not catching Gill at the first opportunity but he applauded his enterprise in arresting him at the second attempt. In the presence of their superior, Marmion and Keedy lapsed back into formality. Chatfield loathed over-familiarity between his officers. He felt that it was unprofessional. Nobody got close enough to him to treat him as a friend.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘So the name of Horrie Waldron crops up again.’
‘Only in relation to a game of darts, sir,’ said Keedy.
‘This fellow Gill may have given himself away.’
‘He’s not the man we’re after, superintendent. I’m certain of that.’
‘I question that certainty, Sergeant. Let’s keep an eye on him. When it comes to eyes,’ he went on with a feeble attempt at humour, ‘I daresay that you’d like to close yours and get some much needed sleep.’
‘Not at all,’ said Keedy. ‘I feel as fresh as a daisy. I’ll carry on.’
‘We don’t want you falling asleep on us.’
‘Sergeant Keedy is unlikely to do that, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘He’s one of the fittest men at Scotland Yard. If he wishes to press on, I think you should allow him.’
Chatfield gave a nod. ‘Very well — you have my blessing, Sergeant.’ He handed an envelope to Marmion. ‘This has just arrived for you, Inspector. I told you that the newspapers would flush out some witnesses.’ He waited until Marmion had opened and read the letter. ‘Am I right?’
‘Not exactly, sir. It’s an anonymous note but it does contain some interesting information.’ He passed it back to Chatfield. ‘It looks as if I should have another chat with a certain librarian.’
Eric Fussell sat in his office with the door firmly closed. Using a pair of scissors, he cut out an article from a newspaper and read it through with a broad smile. He put the cutting aside and reached for another newspaper. There was a pile of them on his desk. He wanted a complete collection of reports about the murder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Charlie Redfern arrived at the workshop to discover his assistant using a plane on the edge of the door he was making. Hambridge broke off immediately and went quickly across to him.